Sing, madwoman, as the spring harvest
floats down the swollen river and the
saturated soil rejects the falling sky
Sing as adult children carry the sun
beneath their shivering skins
searching for a stolen summer
Sing, madwoman for you built your ark long ago
when you sank in human deluge
and the sadness could not hold
You, madwoman, who built your ark with
broken stories, hull hammered with upturned words,
pulling fallen folk aboard
Cry if you must for this sinking world
but also sing, for you have always floated
while the strongmen have drowned.
Word upon Word 